


heavy hitter

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M, POV Second Person, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: You chase the taste of that single spoiled rotten apple that ruins the barrel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i love fics where herc is that dependable older bro, so obvs i am here to write the opposite of that with dependable lil'bro Scott. and ofc, i am back to my old ways of vague herc hansen 2nd person pov fics because i am predictable like this.

 

You are looking elsewhere.

He is looking at nowhere else.

 

One drift blurs into two into three into something that resembles motion and a visual field that submerges entirely into the colour blue. You, Herc Hansen, are breathing in sync but the air that you are dragging inside of your lungs is filling the expanse of your chest all wrong.

One mind becomes two becomes memories you have never lived through.

You remember the worst of it, and just about forget the rest.

 

You are told many things: Good work, Ranger Hansen, 89% this time, we’re _so_ close.

You think you are stumbling on a nod but you are not sure. You cannot be sure of much in these last weeks when they are looking for something inside of you that you cannot recognize for yourself. There is a name, there is a face, there is another candidate measured out in compatibility scheduled for tomorrow.

You hear it too: That’s good.

That might be your voice echoing outside the empty hallway leading to the Conn-Pod sims.

 

You get out of another live practice run and it feels like you are still rooted waist-deep inside of honey.

The spots in your memory, like how you arrived here inside of your room from where you were, is filling with a mother tongue you cannot speak. It is full to the brim with the taste of a home-cooked dish you cannot name the ingredients to. It is overflowing with the sights of a country you have never stepped foot in.

You do not interpret the thumbs that hook on to the belt hoops of your flight suit like a snag ready to tear wide and deep. You cannot see into the corners when the room is still this dark blue. You barely comprehend a single thing until you are tugged backwards.

"Relax," Scott tells you in a murmur that is more noise in your ears than actual words in your head but you understand him, and that is inherent. "I'm not going to put it in."

It is no means to put you at ease but you almost ask _why_ like it still matters at all when you are already sinking back against him.

The exhale, through your teeth, is loud.

It doesn’t sound like anything else other than what it is, and it is relief.

 

You may be between co-pilots, but you still need him.

And he may only be around until he is not, but he still wants you.

 

He runs a hand down his face, and this, here, is a fact that doesn’t escape him (and Scott Hansen is a man very good at running). His smile should be a composition in sharp teeth and a sharper tongue, but he is looking wearier than even you. He is spliced down and down and further down until there is just a fraction of a sliver of what might be your imagination after all.

Scott is at the end of the line, and you have to see that.

“You knew I was never cut out for this, ‘Le.”

He is simple in his plead.

You just choose not to, and it is just as simple for you too.

(And then the two of you are out there in Lucky and _disaster_ is hardly a fit word when it is so much worse. You come back, he barely does, and there is not enough of her to be scraped together for spare parts.)

 

Spit makes for terrible lube.

But it is what you end up using.

When he pulls the zipper of your flight suit all the way down, shoves it off of your shoulders then down over your arms until it is barely clinging to you, he makes sure you have just enough room to brace yourself against the wall in front of you.

His hands might be slippery with his spit to start but it dries quickly even with the smear of it against the inside of your thighs. It is not enough.

You can feel the rough drag of each jerk, and maybe that is his point. For it to chafe and sting so you can feel the heat of him between yourself long after he is gone. You want more when he has given his all.

But he is giving you pause, he is giving you more.

You almost turn around on your own to tell him it is enough. Still, you _want_ and you do not turn until he tugs you around.

He makes it easy for the both of you when he doesn’t ask for your input once. Like he knows not all of you has made it completely back here with him. You go where he pushes you, you shift when he pulls you, and the blue recedes a little further when you are on your knees with your mouth opened wide for him.

He slips a thumb along the seam of your lips, and doesn’t tell you to do a single thing you are not about to do on your own. You run the flat of your tongue from root to tip before you are swallowing him down.

He sighs your name, and keeps a loose grip in your hair.

When you finally pulls off, the length of his cock is soaked with your spit and when he tugs you up to fit right back into you, it is slippery and wet with each shove between your thighs. The filthy noises are only being muffled by just how close you are pressed together.

He keeps his hands on you, dragging the blunt edge of his nails across skin. You are wishing he would hold you hard enough to leave behind bruises that stay.

 

No one relents quite like you, and it leaves the taste of guilt in Scott’s mouth every time. You only know it from the push of his tongue when he is kissing you and you are kissing back.

It tastes of that single spoiled rotten apple that ruins the barrel, and you chase it.

 

When he comes, he leaves you messy and sticky and dripping white down the inside of your thighs. You are not worn to the bone but you wish you were. You are breathing harder than him even though his heart is beating much louder than yours.

“Let me.”

He turns you bodily around so he can drag his gaze easily down, eyes trailing mouth to jaw to every circuitry scar that track all the way down to where you are still hard. He follows with his hands, palms warm and fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs as he turns the mess into a wreck, smearing his semen into your skin.

You let him.

Because he is looking nowhere else even when you can barely hold his steady stare.

 

There are never such things as good terms or bad blood between you. Much like how Scott colours out of the lines every time until you learn not to draw the lines at all.

“I need you in there.”

He laughs, and it fills the room he no longer shares with you, the blue scattering up the walls to disappear into the ceiling.

“You know that ain’t true, ‘Le.”

The protest is on your tongue: How many kills do we have between us, Scotty? You nearly bite the inside of your cheeks bloody to keep yourself from asking in frustration because you can hear his answer even without the words: Lucky did all the work for us.

He isn’t exactly right but he is not all wrong. You will always do the hard work for him, you swing and he will follow on that momentum alone. You will continue and for once, he is finding the courage to learn to do this on his own.

“I wish it was.”

Yet, you are here aiming for those fresh bruises every time.

He is not looking weary or sad, he is not looking at all. When he kisses the answer to your mouth, he has his eyes closed.

“Same.”

 

It is for a very brief period in your life that Scott takes responsibility for you.

And then he is gone, like you know he would.

 

You can call it a great deal of other names (some in languages you still do not speak). Maybe then the shared guilt will weigh a little differently but it does not change a single thing because you make the same mistake.

You find that you make a lot of those.

You also find that the blue recedes much quicker with blood.

 


End file.
